To Overcome
by K.B.Maillet
Summary: Anger is hard to overcome, it leaves behind scars but it doesn't mean you still can't be healed from it


**DISCLAIMER: I do not own One Piece**

**Summary: Anger is hard to overcome, it leaves behind scars but it doesn't mean you still can't be healed from it**

**Note: I let my fingers just dance across my keyboards and came up with this. Basically a One-Shot of Zoro right when he was about to face Ohm in revenge for hurting Chopper (note: the _only_ time he fought for revenge in the series so far). It said on a Wiki page that Zoro usually never resorts to killing except for one time (when Chopper was gravely injured). **

**I actually thought of this before and wondered if Zoro has actually killed anyone before.**

**I could probably go on and on with reasons and what not...but I think I'll let you read this instead, this little journey.**

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_"You will not be punished for your anger, you will be punished by your anger..."  
_**Buddha**

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He got mad easily, he would admit, but always felt as if it were justified.

That burning anger, though, rarely boiled to a point of committing such a vile act as to actually kill anyone. No, he understood life was a precious thing and so fought to always find another way, another path to take that wasn't stained in useless blood.

That being said, it wasn't like he has _never_ killed anyone before.

Sometimes, if he were to be honest, it was a pure and utter accident. A slip of the hand and that same hand would warm over with fresh blood. It had never mattered that it was an animal, but seeing such once lively eyes gaze over into cloudiness, to feel such warmth suddenly turn ice cold.

It left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Remorse, more so, left that bitter taste behind from such hollow feeling words.

_I'm sorry..._

It felt useless and he hated that feeling more than anything else.

Other times, when no other way could be seen, he really did kill someone. It seemed oh-so fair when he did, so easy and felt too _good_. It was easy to give into anger, easy to get lost in its fires (and when it came to getting lost, he would never admit this, but that was easy for him too). To feel such a pure and innocent blade slide easily through muscle and skin and _bone _as if it were nothing but butter, even if that blade cried, left such a wonderful feeling that washed over him and he relished in that single moment.

But it still left that bitter and bloody taste to linger in his mouth.

_I'm so sorry..._

That person had dreams, they had ambitions and no amount of "they were still evil" could change that point. What right did he have to live his dream when his dream might negatively affect someone else (mainly, the very man he sought after...)? Of course, his dream seemed innocent enough. He wanted to be known, to be strong, to be recognized as _something_ important!

_She shared that dream too..._

But his dream had cost someone's life...it didn't seem so innocent.

And it left a bitter taste in his mouth again.

And that had been the first time he had let his anger drive him mad.

_I'm so very sorry..._

It felt so useless, a feeling he never wanted to feel ever again. So, when that blade was thrust upon such small hand, he knew that right there...he could make it right again. A call upon heaven, an oath, and he hoped that she could see him too.

So, he left.

And found himself surrounded by others who felt the same as he did. As time wore on, he felt those heavy feelings fade away like an old memory. That hurt and pain and utter anguish he felt scared over, leaving behind a bright but smooth canvas where something new could be painted on.

Like the laughter with friends, like the arguments over the petty things, like the celebrations, like the tears of joy they had shed to the one person that collected all their broken pieces together and joined them together to create something new.

And for a long time, he had forgotten what it was like to be truly angry, to feel that craving for blood. With everyone they met, that feeling never surfaced.

Not until they had reached the heaven themselves and the angles had banished their weapons in the name of their God.

They had hurt not only one of his friends, but someone who had valued life as much as he did. They tried to take away his dreams and hopes and love. Inside, he knew what was happening, he could feel those still too fresh scars break open and bleed.

But he didn't care.

He wanted blood.

And so he fought, in the name for nothing more than his own anger. It felt so right, so very right, to see every bruise and droplet of blood ooze from that man who even dared to take away something so precious to him!

A life.

A friend.

A savior from his own madness.

Yet he still couldn't do it, he still _wouldn't_ give into that anger anymore. He promised _her_ that he wouldn't.

And so, with a last arching light, a defeat was handed. The swordsman left with his honor still intact and his friend in hand.

Such warm blood ran over his worn out hands as he walked away from the smoke and ruble, a sword singing happy in the bright sunlight.

_I forgive you..._

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**Well its 10pm right now and I need sleep...I've had none since yesterday morning and I have work tomorrow morning.**

**I hoped you enjoyed this random outburst of words.**

**K.B.**


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